On the Road to Redemption
by Ash Riley
Summary: Having a new job is never easy, especially when the line of work hits close to home.Greg tries to help someone from the past. GregOC friendship. This is my first fan fiction. Please read and review. Chapter 6 is finally updated!
1. Chapter 1

Tristan stood in the hallway of the Las Vegas Crime Lab._ Why am I here? I should never have come back to this city._ She took a deep, shuddering breath and lightly knocked on the door in front of her. "Who is it?" a male voice called.

"Tristan Wescott, sir. I'm looking for—," the door suddenly swung open, and Tristan found herself face to face with a tall, angular man.

"Conrad Ecklie, I'm the assistant director," the man finished abruptly, "Miss Wescott, welcome to the lab. We have been a little shorthanded on the dayshift, and you are a welcome commodity."

"Thank you, sir, for hiring me." Tristan answered in what she hoped was a steady tone.

"You will be helping with DNA processing and fingerprinting. The lab is here," Ecklie pointed on a small map. "Here you go," he shoved the paper at her, "Have a nice day." Tristan watched as he strode away. _How did I get myself into this mess,_ she asked herself as she walked through a door that, hopefully, was in the direction of the lab.

The first day had been nerve-wracking, to say the least. Tristan had dropped a test tube, spilled water on important lab results, and run into Ecklie. Twice. The sun was setting as she made her way back to her small apartment. Tristan unlocked the door and let herself in. Kicking her shoes off, she grabbed a book off of her overflowing bookshelves.

Hours later, Tristan bolted upright. She was alone, in the dark. Sweat trickled down her neck as she struggled to control her heavy breathing. The dreams were back. She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to erase the images that were branded on her brain. No, nothing could prevent the memories from creeping into her consciousness. Tristan buried her head in the pillow and wept.

Life was going better. Tristan had fallen into a semblance of a routine. Every morning she walked to work. After processing case after case, she would walk home, shove food down her throat, read a book, and finally fall asleep. The work was stressful, but not nearly as horrible as trying to deal with the other members of the shift. The other lab techs kept to their own group, and Tristan was basically in her own right, a loner.

Weeks passed, life continued on its own monotonous path. _Is this worth it?_ She thought to herself one night. _I have a great job, the money's nice, but still...I'm basically a hermit. Life is no fun anymore._ Tristan lay on her couch after another sleepless night. Slowly, painfully, she uncurled herself from the tangle of pillows and blankets. A look in the mirror did no good. _Look at me. I'm depressed and tired of life at the ripe old age of 25. What a joke._ After another tasteless breakfast, she started the long trek to work. _I should just break down and get a car._

The day was hectic, case after case poured in, and of course, the CSIs wanted the results in a minute or less and complained loudly if it took longer. Tristan finally was able to snatch a short break. She was just about to sit in the break room when Ecklie poked his head in the door. "Hey, Wescott, I need to talk to you. Now." She sighed and followed him to his office. "Sit down," he commanded. "The night shift is short on lab technicians. I need you to pull a double. Just for tonight, though."

"Oh, sure. I'd be happy to." Tristan could have pulled her tongue out. _Why did I say yes? I'm already tired enough._

"Great. I'll tell Grissom that the shift is covered. You can go now."

Tristan walked back to the break room. "I'm going to be so dead tomorrow," she said aloud to the empty room, "Next time I won't open my big mouth."

That evening, she decided to lie down on the couch in the break room for a few minutes between shifts. "Who's that?" a female voice asked, startling her out of her skin. "Don't know. She must be new." The second voice sounded slightly familiar. Tristan couldn't place where she knew that voice as she pretended to be asleep. The two people left the room, and Tristan was alone, again.

"Tristan Wescott?" a man tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to almost drop the vial in her hand. She spun around to face a man who was old enough to be her father. "Gil Grissom. I'm the night shift supervisor." He stuck out his hand. She timidly shook his hand.

"I'm Tristan. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Grissom," she replied.

"A couple of our techs have been down with the flu. It was nice of you to help us out," Grissom thanked her. _Is this a dream? Have I fallen asleep during one of Eckley's rampages?_ she asked herself. This man was actually nice to his insubordinates. "You'll do fine. I will admit that Ecklie said you were his best."

"Ecklie said something good about me? Did he get abducted by aliens and receive a personality change"? Tristan clamped her mouth shut. She could have dropped dead right there.

"Don't worry; we're a bit nicer than Eckley's crew. In fact, you'll fit in just fine." Grissom decided to leave the lab at this point.

Tristan watched him go.

"First case of the evening—," a reddish-blond haired woman strolled into the lab. "You're new. Catherine. Catherine Willows."

"Tristan Wescott. Nice to meet you, Ms. Willows. You need this run through?" Tristan took the sample.

"Yes, right away, if possible, and call me Catherine," she stood there, waiting, "So, what do you think of the nightshift so far?" Tristan gave a quick, tentative smile.

"It's okay, I guess. The people seem to be friendlier than the day shift. You're the second one I've met, besides Mr. Grissom."

"Mr. Grissom?" Catherine laughed, "We just call him Grissom. Gil or Griss we feel comfortable." Tristan just nodded.

"Here you go," she handed Catherine the results.

"Why don't you come with me really fast? It's a slow night, and you can meet the rest of the team," Catherine offered.

"I don't want to get into trouble," Tristan confessed, "Maybe I'd better not."

"Just for a few minutes," Catherine coaxed gently. She lightly pushed Tristan toward the door. A few minutes later, Tristan stood stiffly in the break room, watching as two men were playing video games while a woman sat silently at the table. "Everyone, this is Tristan Wescott from the day shift. She's filling in for the sick techs."

"The name's Nick Stokes," said the man with brown hair and a slight twang to his speech.

"Warrick Brown. How are you?" the other man said, standing up to shake Tristan's hand. He had dark hair and skin.

"Sara Sidle. Nice to meet you." The woman at the table nodded. She stood up to leave, "Hey guys, we do have work to do tonight. Saving the world can wait a little longer.

"Sara, Sara, always the taskmaster," Nick grumbled, "Well, Warrick, we'd better get back to it before the Queen chops off our heads."

"Well, I think that's everyone," Catherine said, "No, wait. Where's Greg at? Oh, well, you can meet him later." Tristan hurried back to the lab. She continued the rest of the night in a tired daze. Standing by the table, she began to prepare the lab for the next shift. Just then someone entered the lab.

"Hmmm, must be the new girl that everyone's talking about," a voice mumbled behind her. Tristan assumed that this man must be the missing Greg. She turned around only to find herself face-to-face with Greg Sanders. All the memories came flooding into her muddled brain. Tristan pushed past him and fled the lab.


	2. Avoiding Doesn't Solve Problems

Greg stood in the lab, his mind spinning with questions. He couldn't place where he'd seen this girl. Finally it hit him. Tristan. The girl who had stayed with his family for a summer and had suddenly disappeared. Where she had gone to nobody knew. The police thought that she had run away. Now she was here in Las Vegas over a decade later. "Greg. Earth to Greg, we need to go. There's a dead guy in a dumpster calling your name," Sara called to him.

"Coming. Hey, have you met the new girl?" Greg asked her, nonchalantly.

"Yeah, really quiet one. Are you coming or am I going to have to leave you?" Sara threatened.

"I'm coming. Can I drive this time?"

Tristan sat on the cold tile in the bathroom. After promptly emptying the few contents of her stomach, she had crept to the corner and stayed there for several long minutes. She glanced at her hands. They were noticeably trembling. _He's here. I can't believe it. Now he's going to start asking me questions. I actually found a job I like, and now I'm gonna have to move._ Tristan slowly got up and after splashing water on her face, returned to her work.

A few minutes before her shift ended, Tristan was filing data into the computer. The door slowly swung open behind her. "Tristan," Greg came to stand beside her.

"What do you want?" she asked him, never taking her eyes off of the screen.

"Well, for starters, I would like to know where you disappeared to. My parents were worried sick about you." He reached past her and covered the computer monitor. She swiveled around in her chair. Greg saw a hint of sorrow that was quickly concealed by a stony glare.

"How are your parents?" Tristan unsuccessfully evaded the question.

"They're doing great. But I'm sure they would like to know where you ran off to." Greg crossed his arms and waited.

"I didn't know that people actually cared about foster kids," she muttered under her breath. She hoped he would be offended and leave her alone.

"Tristan Wescott, why don't you just tell me where you went. It's been over ten years. Can't you just give me an explanation?" Greg almost shouted at her. She flinched and mentally steeled herself. He stopped his tirade and stared at her.

"I can't tell you. I was told not to tell anyone. If I tell, something bad could happen. Leave me alone, Greg. Please, everything's better that way." Tristan knew that she was babbling, but she had to get away from him. "I need to go clock out. I'll be back at my normal shift tomorrow. Just go away." She turned off the computer and exited the lab.

Tristan hated the long walk back to her apartment. She let herself in the door and flipped the lock. Throwing her bag onto the floor, she headed for the perpetual bookshelf. Her cell phone rang. "Hello?" she answered.

"Hello, Tristan, this is Ecklie. I have another question to ask you. One of the night shift lab techs will not be returning to work. I want you to take her position on the night shift." Tristan wanted to protest, but she knew that Ecklie wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I guess I could," she replied, really wishing she could say no.

"Thank you, Miss Wescott. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated." Tristan almost laughed at his words. He sounded like he was reading out of a book. In fact, he probably was. She clicked the phone shut and threw it onto the couch.

Tristan was now finished with her third day on the night shift. She had carefully avoided Greg at all costs, and he also seemed to be ignoring her. The other CSIs were nice to her, but Tristan's evasion of Greg strained any possible friendships.

A knock on the door startled her. Tristan eyed the door suspiciously. She grabbed her unread copy of _War and Peace_ and went to answer the door. No one was outside her apartment. A note was tucked between the screen door and the wall. Tristan unfolded the small scrap of paper and read the hastily scrawled words.

**Tristan,**

**There's no use in avoiding me. I'm like an unlucky penny. I see that you walk to and from work. So, I will be at your apartment at 3:00 pm. We are going to talk whether you want to or not. Then we'll ride to work together. Enough of the hide-and-seek game. See you mañana. **

**Greg**

Tristan lay on the couch in a pool of misery. She was half-tempted to hunt down Greg's number and call him a thousand names. _He never talked to me that summer. And I thought that he hated me. Then again, I don't remember much about that summer._ Tristan's thoughts were drawing perilously close to bringing back unwanted memories. Unfortunately, sooner or later, she would be forced to tell him. She'd been holding in secrets for far too long. Sighing softly, Tristan moved into a more comfortable position. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Author's Note

**Author's Note: An apology to everyone who's reading or has read this story. I posted the 3rd chapter before realizing that I**

**had put up the wrong draft. I'm still trying to get the hang of this site. I've decided to removeChapter 3, and I will replace**

**with the right one soon. I'm very sorry about the mixup.**

**Ash Riley**


	4. Chapter 3 revised

**Author's Note: I am so sorry about posting the wrong chapter. I should have paid more attention. This is the chapter that I wanted to have. I had changed my mind on some of the plot so I hope you enjoy this revised chapter. Once again, I'm sorry about the mix-up. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI. I only own my character and of course all the murderers.**

Tristan paced back and forth across her microscopic living room. She had just received a call to come to work early. Unfortunately, Greg was still going to be coming at three to pick her up. She deliberated the problem, scribbled a note to leave in the door, and set out to work. Finally, she was only four blocks away from the lab, and Tristan quickened her pace. She stepped into the lab, and Grissom spied her coming. He immediately handed her a sample vial. "Tristan, I need you to run this DNA and see if there's a hit." She started up the process, placed the sample inside and waited for the results to pop up on the computer screen.

"The DNA belongs to a William Porter. He lives here in Las Vegas." Tristan handed Grissom the printout. She didn't want to touch the paper anymore. A knot was slowing growing in her stomach. "Why are you looking for him?" she asked, afraid to know the answer. Grissom was busy analyzing the paper to notice her anxious face.

"There's been a homicide in the rural part of Las Vegas. A teenage girl was shot and killed this afternoon, luckily for us, the killer left plenty of leads." Grissom explained the situation in a calm, factual voice. "Thanks for the data."

"No problem," Tristan mumbled. She continued to process evidence, until Sara and Warrick came with fingerprints. The prints also matched William Porter.

"We are going to put this guy behind bars for life." Sara declared, her eyes dark with rage, "Let's go get this guy and bring him in. I wish all the cases were solved this easily." She held the results up in triumph and charged out the door, with Warrick close behind. Tristan stood alone in the lab. She felt sick. _What am I going to do? I don't ever want to see him again._ She struggled to force her mind to focus on another subject.

Tristan was headed to the break room after clocking out when Sara and Warrick brought Willam Porter in. She tried to duck into another corridor, but it was too late. "Tristan Wescott. I should have known that you were still alive. I've been trying to find you for years. I hate you for what happened to my family." He stopped walking. Tristan stood frozen in the hall. "I should have taken care of you years ago--," his sentence interrupted by a warning from Sara. "I'm not finished with you yet," he menaced. Tristan broke into a run. She flung open the door leading to the break room, narrowly missing Catherine and Greg, who stared at her in surprise.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, before trying to back out of the room.

"Are you all right?" Catherine asked.

"Fine. I'm fine. Just tired, that's all," Tristan lied. Greg eyed her suspiciously. He seriously doubted her answer. She was pale, wide-eyed, and breathing hard.

"If you're fine, then why do you look like you've just seen a ghost?" he said half-teasingly.

"Leave me alone!" Tristan almost screamed at him, "Stop asking me questions. I hate you!" Greg was taken aback by her words. Catherine chose this moment to slip out the door and left the two alone. Tristan felt like falling through the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said, softly, "I don't hate you. I hate _him_."

"Who are you talking about?"

"William Porter," she whispered, "He. I don't want to talk about it."

"Tell me," Greg encouraged. He hoped he was saying the right words. The young CSI felt very awkward in emotional situations.

"I can't," Tristan stated flatly, "Everyone would be angry that I didn't say anything sooner. All I want is to live a normal life and to forget the past."

"You're going to have to say something. Is this about the new murder?" Greg asked.

"I gotta go home," she started to leave.

"You know, you don't have to afraid anymore."

"I've been afraid my whole life," Tristan retorted before leaving. He let her go.

Tristan ran back to her apartment. Hot tears fell on the cold pavement as she sprinted into her apartment and fastened the door. She stumbled across the floor before falling onto the couch. Tristan shut her eyes to stop the flashes of memory. _She could hear the fatal shot being fired_. _The sound reverberated through her mind. Then she saw him lying on the ground. She ran and knelt beside him. Tristan looked down and saw his blood on her hands. He looked straight into her eyes. She couldn't stop the tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cried. He shook his head slowly. "It's not your fault." Those were his last words. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. The images faded, and Tristan found herself in her living room, alone in the dark, left with only memories._

**Thank you for reading. Please review and tell me what you think. Any comments are helpful-good or bad. I'll have the next chapter up in a couple days.**


	5. Innocent Until Proven Guilty

**Author's note: Once again, I don't own CSI. Too bad.**

**To my reviewers. You know who you are. Thank you so much. **

**Anyways, here is the next chapter. I'm kind of nervous about this one. I think that I dwell on the dramatic side far too much, and I've never written anything dealing with violence. Oh well, here goes...**

Tristan tossed and turned on the couch. She glanced at the clock; the face read 2:35. Work was hours away, but sleep was evasive. After a few more minutes of waiting for sleep, she decided to get up. Plodding slowly to the bathroom, Tristan flicked the switch and stared at her ghastly reflection. Her dark blue eyes were red and swollen and her usually smooth brown hair was tangled. She half-heartedly ran a brush through her hair and tied it back into a ponytail. Tristan threw on a blue shirt and jeans. Her mission was to find a park that was close to her apartment. After walking a few blocks, she found a small park with only a handful of people who were walking on the opposite side. She walked to a park bench and sat down. A light breeze blew, and Tristan wished that she had brought a sweatshirt. One man standing off to the side caught her eye, and she studied him intently. _I've seen him before. But where?_ She decided to walk a little closer. "William Porter. I can't believe they let you out." she muttered to herself. "What are you doing here?"

He saw her staring and started walking towards her. Tristan turned to leave, but his hand reached out and grabbed her arm stopping her short. "Don't try to run," he warned her.

"What do you want?"

"Why, hello to you too, Tristan. I haven't seen you for awhile. Actually, I saw you just yesterday, but does that really count? You're probably wondering why I'm out of prison. I was let out early for good behavior."

"That's crazy. You only served five years. For murder. Well, after they get some more evidence, I guess that you'll be going back in for a lot longer." Tristan told him.

"I didn't kill anyone, Tristan. They say that I killed a girl. I don't know what they are talking about. As for what I did. I'm sorry. Please believe me." William said in a half-pleading tone. Tristan jerked her arm out of his grasp.

"I can't ever believe anything you say. Not after what happened." She shook her head vehemently.

"I figured you wouldn't," he said angrily.

"You kidnapped me. Took me away to a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere to hide out with your crime buddies. Why should I help you?" Tristan crossed her arms and stared at him in disgust.

"Maybe because I'm your uncle," he emphasized the word.

"You gave that right up when you were sent to prison. I will never consider you to be my uncle. Ever."

"I do care about you. I'm different now."

"I didn't know that you cared about anyone else but yourself. Besides, it's a little late to try to redeem yourself." Tristan replied coldly.

"Are you still having nightmares?" he asked.

"What goes on in my life is none of your business." Tristan stepped back from him. _How does he know about every part of my life?_ she thought.

"Tristan, I know everything. I know that you work at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. You used to work during the day, but you were transferred to the night shift. Every day you walk to work because you don't want to buy a car." William chuckled, his laughter grating on her nerves.

"What? So are you stalking me now?" Now Tristan was starting to feel nervous. Her heart began to speed up.

"I did watch you for awhile, but only to see how you were doing," he admitted.

"Leave me alone. I will never help you. Not after Stephen."

"You're going to regret your words, Tristan. I should have killed you when I had the chance." He raised his arm as if to strike her, all She flinched, but didn't back away. He lowered his hand. "Still scared as always I see. No, I won't kill you. There's no point in killing someone who's been dead for over ten years." His harsh words stung her consciousness.

"Listen, I have to go to work, so this little heart-to-heart needs to come to an end. I hope I never see you again." Tristan turned to head back to her apartment.

"Fine. I hope that one day you'll realize that I am sorry for what happened," he called after her. Neither of them noticed the solitary figure hiding behind a tree who had heard every word of their conversation.

Tristan jogged back to her apartment, her mind tumbling around with questions. Why is he trying to be all friendly? I liked him better when he hated me. A sudden thought hit her. What if he's telling the truth? She pondered these thoughts as she stepped into her shadowed living room. A sudden movement caught her eye.She lunged for the door. _Get outside!_ her mind screamed a warning at her. The door slammed shutas the shadowy figure beat her to it. She was trapped. Something hard hit the side of her head. Pain shot through her head and everything slowly faded to darkness.

**Yeah, I don't know what to think about this chapter. Makes me nervous dealing with violence.Review and tell me what you think. Your reviews are very helpful (and often funny).**


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for not updating very quickly. School has been very hectic, and my mind has been running around with ideas for this chapter. I will try to be a little quicker with the next chapter. **

**Thanks to all my reviewers: MC New York, karmine, and bethy. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. If I did, then I wouldn't have a disclaimer. Also, if there are any misspellings or bad punctuation, the computer has been acting rather strange.**

Greg checked the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour. "Hey, Grissom, don't you think we should call her?"

"I've already tried four times; there's no answer." Grissom replied distractedly. He was gingerly handling another specimen for his collection.

"Why don't you try again?" Greg asked, once again breaking the silence.

"Why don't you call?" Grissom answered, scowling. He had dropped the insect on table and damaged its wing.

"Okay, okay. I will." Greg whipped out his cell phone and glanced at Grissom sheepishly. "Um, what's the number?" Grissom was now extremely irritated.

"I'll call her. You clean up this mess." He dumped the mangled insect into Greg's hands. Grissom dialed the number and waited.

* * *

_She was running through the woods with Stephen close behind her. "Are we going to make it?" she gasped breathlessly. _

_"I don't see him anymore! We must have lost him!" Stephen answered. "Keep going!" They continued at their fast pace through the trees. Tristan stumbled and fell. He stopped to help her. She felt someone come up behind her. Stephen pushed her to the side. Their pursuer raised his gun. __Tristan covered her eyes._ A ringing sound filled her ears and the scene slipped away. Everything hurt. Something was out of place; she forced her eyes open. The room was spinning. She was lying on the floor. Tristan realized that the noise came from her cell phone. Her head ached fiercely. What's going on? she wondered, struggling to focus her thoughts which only caused more pain. Then she remembered what had happened. Her cell phone continued to ring. Tristan pulled herself into a sitting position and answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Tristan? Are you okay? You're late for work." It was Grissom.

"Grissom? Work? I totally forgot about work," she moaned rubbing her eyes. How long have I been here?

"I'm going to send someone to come get you. Are you at your apartment?"

"Yeah."

"Someone will be there in a few minutes." He hung up before she could reply. Tristan shut the phone and set it on the floor. Her whole body ached, even her face. She ran a hand over her cheek and stopped on a small cut. She reached out her arm and felt glass surrounding her. Her attacker had broken something. Carefully, she felt the floor before stopping on a wooden frame. Stephen's picture was broken. Tristan cautiously fished the battered photo from the sea of broken glass. She clutched the picture to her chest, and a feeling of loss filled her. A light-colored object lying by the door caught her eye. It was a white rose. She crumpled it up and shoved it under the couch.

* * *

"Hello? Tristan? Can you let me in?" Greg knocked on the door. Tristan stood carefully and opened the door. Greg was leaning on the handrail, holding a field kit. "So, what seems to be the problem?" 

"Someone was in my apartment when I came home after going to the park. Gave me a nice whack on the head. Now I have a headache and a bruise to prove it." Tristan said. She deliberately left out the part about the rose. Greg studied her critically.

"I think that you should go to the hospital."

"I've had concussions before, Greg. I can handle it. Besides,the guy was probably looking for something to steal when I walked in. Itook some medication, and it's starting to kick in.I need to get to work before I get fired."

"Some random guy breaks into your house, hits you upside the head, and all you can say is, 'I need to go to work'?" Greg stubbornly set his jaw, "Let me check for prints at least." Tristan stepped aside to let him enter.

"Was anything stolen?" he asked, busily dusting the door.

"No, only the picture was broken," Tristan answered. Ten minutes later, Greg was done.

"No prints. Whoever it is, he's a pro. Not a single fingerprint." Greg began to load up his supplies. "I'm going to call Grissom and tell him that you aren't going to be working today."

"Greg, I am going to work if I have to walk there." Tristan crossed her arms and scowled. "I've had worse things happen to me than this."

"Like what?" his question threw her off guard.

"That would be none of your business," she retorted, not answering the question. They stared at each other for a minute. Finally, Greg gave in.

"All right, all right,you win. I've learned that it's a health hazard to try to reason with an angry woman. You're going to have to tell Grissom, though." Minutes later, they were walking down the hall of the lab. Greg noticed that the rest of the CSIs were in the break room. "What's going on?" he asked as they walked into the room. Grissom merely glanced at him and continued to discuss something with Sara.

"There's been another murder. This one totally screws up our other investigation." Nick explained. "You know the suspect that we've been trying to pin down? Well, he turned up dead this evening in an alley not far from here. Now, we have no suspect, a new case, and no evidence."

"Who's the new victim?" Tristan asked. Her heart skipped a beat. _It can't be,_ she thought, holding her breath.

"William Porter."

**Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know that it's a little boring, but I'm getting to the more interesting part.**


	7. And the Heart is Ever Lonely

**I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to finish. I've been super busy with school, and I haven't had any time. This chapter was harder for me to write than the other ones. I guess it's because of all the dialogue. If there's spacing errors, I don't know why. Every time I save it, something else goes wrong...Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I don't own CSI.**

**To my ever patient and faithful reviewers: I hope you like this one. **

Tristan's breath caught painfully, and her heart thumped wildly. The expected relief had disappeared and had been replaced by the empty feeling of loss. She needed to get out of there before she lost it completely. "Excuse me," she said in a tight voice, awkwardly pushing past Nick and Greg, who followed her hasty exit.

"Wait for me," Greg called. Tristan ignored him and continued walking quickly. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? Especially now, when she felt herself slowly falling apart. She ducked into the locker room where everyone kept their things. The lights were off, and she curled up in the corner. Pulling her knees to her chest, she laid her throbbing head on her folded arms and closed her eyes.

Greg had seen her go into the locker room, and he stood outside the door wondering if he should go in. He made up his mind and opened the door. She was in the corner sitting on the floor. Tristan heard him enter and didn't say anything. He came and sat beside her. He didn't say anything, and she was grateful. She didn't speak, afraid that her voice would betray her. They sat there in silence for several minutes. "Why are you here?" Tristan asked, her voice sounded tired.

"You're my friend," Greg said simply, "I don't leave friends alone when they're hurting. And it seems to me that you're hurting pretty bad." He turned to look at her face in the dim light. She kept her eyes focused on the ground.

"He's my uncle," she told him, her voice completely devoid of any emotion. Greg was surprised by her words, but he wisely stayed silent.

"I miss him. I don't know why; I've always hated him, but now that he's gone, I miss him," she admitted.

"He was your uncle. I think it's natural." Greg answered. "I would have missed my uncle, had I known him."

"Your uncle didn't kill your best friend." Tristan blurted out. She immediately shut her mouth.

"You're going to end up telling me sooner or later. You'd feel better if you did because you wanted to, instead of me finding out some other way." Greg told her. Tristan turned away from him.

"He was my guardian after my parents died. I was taken away because he wasn't exactly parent material. I bounced around from home to home before I came to yours." She moved away from him just enough to put some distance between them. "He came for me the day I disappeared and took me to a cabin in the woods. I think it was a national park. Anyways, one of his stupid buddies was there too, and he had a son named Stephen. Stephen was sixteen, and we became best friends. We decided to run away and get away from his dad and my uncle, but the night we left, there were problems. My uncle caught us trying to get away. We had to run away into the woods. I can still see it as clear as anything. It was night, but the moon was shining brightly. I tripped and fell. Stephen stopped and came back to help me. He saw my uncle coming behind me, so he pushed me into behind some bushes. My uncle saw Stephen and shot him, then he ran off because he shot the wrong one. I was crying, and I ran over to him, but I couldn't stop the bleeding." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He died, instead of me, but I should be dead, not him."

"But you're not. You're still alive. I think that Stephen wouldn't want you to feel that way." Greg said. "I think that he would want you to be happy."

"I dream about it every night. Every night I wake up and nothing's changed. I'm still here, and I'm alone."

"You don't have to be alone. I'll be your friend. Everyone that works here, Grissom, Sara, Catherine, Nick, Warrick. They're the best friends anyone could ever ask for. Don't be afraid of showing people of how you feel." Greg said. She didn't answer. "Tristan?" He cautiously reached over and touched her arm. She jerked away from his touch. Her head was on her knees. She slowly raised her head and looked at him. A single tear made its way down her cheek. He reached over andgently wiped it away. "We'll always be here for you. No matter what. You are not alone anymore." She stared at him. He could see that she was struggling with his words. Tristan wanted to believe him. She really did, but something was holding her back.

"I can't let you do that," her voice dropping until he could barely hear her. "I don't want anything to happen to you or the others. I stay away from everyone because I'm afraid of what might happen if I do. I think I should quit and leave here."

"Try all you want, but I'm not going anywhere. You disappeared into thin air all those years ago, but I'm not going to let you get away that easy now." Greg said, his eyes searching her face. "Please. Trust me." Tristan looked scared for a moment, and then she nodded slowly.

"I'll try."

"Grissom needs to know, because it might help with the case.Think you can do it?" Greg asked quietly.

"Will you go with me?"

"Yes."

"Then I can do anything," she whispered. Tristan moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Tears soaked his sleeve as she wept quietly. They sat in silence; there was nothing more that needed to be said.

**And that's the end of of another chapter. At this rate, I won't be done with this until I'm 110 years old. I'm trying harder, I really am. I hope you like the chapter. I'lltry to befasterwith the next one. **


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